I read an article on Medium once about storytelling. She said, her grandmother taught her that "storytelling is... how we relate, how we remember, how we teach, how we celebrate our humanity."
And this is how I celebrate.
The new wardrobe just got in a couple days ago. I needed to rearrange old dusty boxes, and throw the unused little things. In those tiny little boxes I found notes, mostly from high school, new year resolutions and dying love letters. But then, I thought of this blog– this, too, has been offering its comfort for nearly eight years. The first post on 25th November 2008.
These writings confessed how I have grown, gone through my teenage days in bad grammar and incoherent paragraphs. But however confusing and boring the posts were, it speaks innocence and honesty. Of how blinded first love was, and faux love towards band members and vampire films.
Rejoicing the good eleven years of this blog, I narrow down my top five of personal favourite entries:
Things We Forget: Class of 2015 July 2015
I think you can tell which one comes close to my heart. My mother reposted this on her Facebook. It means the world – "...the more I would like to make sure that none of us is going to spend another second of our times doing what we don't like or being pressured into doing what others deem to be right. If you are not sure yet of what you like, I suggest you to keep looking."
I'm Sorry April 2014
"I am sorry that I chose not to love you — although I would like to love you; hell, maybe I should, but I'm afraid I couldn't." These are the things I'd like to say to the boy I deeply cherished but too shy to say up front when I was in England. I wrote this in less than ten minutes. This kind of writing is my personal favourite because there's this sense of raw honesty that flows in one go, without major editing in words and structure.
Hold Me Close, I've Never Been This Far From Home August 2012
Everything is clear; even with your eyes shut." 2012 was the year I discovered how to write using with flamboyant, grande metaphors where at the end of the day, it kinda fell pretty.
Malam Itu September 2013
The first post I wrote properly in Indonesian and I kinda am proud of how it turned out. This felt like a milestone and the inspiration for this story was very personal, too – "Tapi aku terhenti. Bayangan itu hilang seraya aku menolehkan kepalaku menjauh darinya dengan elusan akal sehat. Sekarang aku dapat merasakan nafasnya berhembus pada leherku. Hangat."
Find Me July 2013
I remember the night I showed this to my father and asked him what did he think, "Good." and I added in joy, "It's great how I wrote this without anybody specific in mind. I wrote it for myself." He said with his eyes fixated on the TV screen, "You sure? It's kinda obvious who you are writing this for..." I re-read it again and again days after days, then I realised what he meant – "Find me in between the announcement of departing flight or at the arrival gate. Better yet, find me at the airport — because I can't stay. You can't stay. We can't stay. We are not here to stay. But still, find me, look for me."
Maybe you'd care to tell me yours?
No comments :
Post a Comment